HypoHappy
by Lady Merlin
Summary: A slight variation on a st xi kink meme prompt: The five times Jim asked for that hypo and the one time he wouldn't let Bones come near him with it. Two shot. Rated for bad words and implications. Involves Tarsus.


I know, I know, I should be working on chapter five of En l'air, which by the way has hit a rewrite count of EIGHT times, but I have FINALLY discovered the Kink Meme, and am in LOVE. :3

So here's my first Meme Response, and sorry if I'm doing this wrong because I'm still a bit blur on how this works. Also I've tweaked the challenge slightly, because firstly I don't remember the exact wording, and secondly because I had a similar idea and wanted to merge them.

Challenge: The five times Jim asked (seriously, asked) for that hypo, and the one time he absolutely refused to let Bones come near him with it.

Uh. As per usual I fully intend to do the 'and one' in a waaaay unexpected way, so yup. Hope you enjoy this! Oh, and I'm really sorry. I pulled an alien-spores-thing. Hehe. Forgive me?

**.~*One*~.**

"I can't believe you went fucking _cliff-diving_, Jim. Cliff-diving?! It was a fucking diplomatic incident! You were supposed to go there, be nice, and come _home_. Not go _cliff-diving_?! And these people have _hollow_ bones! You _don't!_ Damnit Jim! Where's your brains?! Their chute thingies aren't meant for people your weight! Fuck, Jim! You've broken your arm—"

"and ribs in three places, yes, Bones, I know. Shut up, already."

"Don't _you_ tell me to shut up, you annoying _retard_! You went _fucking_ CLIFF-DIVING! I swear, I'm working for a man who has the self preservation instincts of a suicidal _lemming_. One of these days, James Kirk, mark my words, I am going to find you and _chip_ you like a fucking dog, and then I'll know where you are all the time. Fuck, CLIFF DIVING?! Don't you suffer e_nough_ as it is? With you and your fucking bad luck getting kidnapped left right and centre, and people coming after you like bugs on a fucking windshield. It's harder to keep you safe than pinning jelly to a wall and herding fucking _cats_, and STILL you go out and find yourself more ways to do dangerous shit. FUCK."

McCoy was breathing hard and clearly his blood-pressure had shot out the roof, but he was still tending to Jim. His rant seemed to be more of a coping mechanism than an actual scolding, but it was driving Jim _crazy_.

"Oh please, save me the agony and _please_ hypo me. Please?" Bones glared.

_Whoosh_

**.~*Two*~.**

He had done it. He had saved Uhura and Chapel from those bastards who had tried to rape them on that planet. He couldn't _believe_ that such medieval attitudes even _existed_ anymore. Fuck if he let that planet become part of the Federation. Un-judgmental and unbiased society, his _ass_.

The significant damage to himself, however, was barely noticed until Bones started hissing and gasping like the damned mother-hen he was. _Then_ he noticed the non-stop ache in his rib(s?), and the throb in his head, and the gash down his thigh, and the suspiciously red liquid that seeped from his back.

It only got worse. No one spoke to him, and yet he was aware. The pain magnified and grew and swelled until it was filling him, begging to be let out, pushing behind his eyelids and fingertips to escape. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, and even that was painful.

"Please…" he rasped, unused voice. The team of doctors that had been focusing on his injuries looked at him. "Please…" he repeated, and knew if he spoke one more word he would die, because his tongue would choke him and he wouldn't be able to breathe, and because his rib would poke through the fabric of his lungs and he would deflate like a rubber balloon.

The doctor with the loving blue eyes (suspiciously watery) leaned forward, as if in a caress, and Jim felt nothing as his world faded, and the pain dulled to a hum.

**.~*Three*~.**

Jim had the mother of all hangovers. Even his hangover had a hangover. His brother was dead. Sam, who had been so noble and so loving, and he was dead. And the only thing Jim had seen fit to do was to go out to some small shady bar, and drink himself into oblivion.

He had managed to get himself back into his room unnoticed at one thirty in the morning. That was good. And it was good he had a single room. He sat there, awake, until the sun came up and his head started throbbing like someone was hitting it was a fucking hammer, and he was almost okay with that, because it reminded him of Sam, because Sam was dead.

Bones had come in and even though he was whispering and shit, it sounded like he was screaming it over a speaker-phone, and there were sirens blaring in the background. The sun was a bit higher up and the little sunshine that came through the shut blinds hurt his eyes like searing knives and tears came flooding, and Bones was still sitting there, relatively silent.

"Jim."

"Bones, just give me the hypo, please."

Bones acquiesced, with a look of pity (damn him for pitying Jim; he didn't fucking need it) and his anger and sorrow grayed with the sunshine and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

**.~*Four*~.**

Jim picked up the glass bottle and threw it at a wall, face twisted in a feral snarl. His face and hands were already bleeding from previous cuts, along with his nose and ears. He suddenly fell to the ground and clawed at his ears, trying to stem the unbearable agony.

He had been infected by a previously un-catalogued virus (which would later be named Kirkian Fever) which affected the region of his brain which controlled emotions and rationality. So for the past few hours he had been wildly speculating about everyone aboard the ship, and had come up with a crazy number of conspiracy theories which resulted in him losing his job. _Then_ he had started showing signs of weakened emotional control, resulting in fluctuations between overwhelming self-doubt and devastating anger.

Now he was suffering, and still feeling the urge to stab someone (including himself) with a shard of glass which was lying so close to him… in fact, it would be so easy. He'd only have to inch over, and no one would notice, and he was pretty sure he could reach that blasted doctor, and plunge the shard into his chest and rip down and his life blood would come pouring out with severed arteries and—

No.

No, he was James. T. Kirk, Captain of the _fucking_ U.S.S. _Enterprise, _for fucks sake, and he would _not_ allow some fucking alien brain thing to kill his best friend.

He turned to Bones, the doctor, and opened his throat, speaking for the first time in a while. "Please, Bones. Knock me out."

"Jim, it could cause brain dama—"

"Doctor, knock me out, now." This wasn't Jim now. This was James. T. Kirk, The Captain.

With the _whoosh_ of the hypo-spray came darkness, and blessed relief.

**.~*Five*~.**

"I hate the flu."

"Yeah, kid. I know."

"No, I mean, I really, _really_ hate the flu." Jim looked _miserable_. He lay in his bed, sniffling and itchy-eyed, in no condition to go anywhere. He felt filthy because he hadn't been allowed to stand up to brush his damn teeth, and he was bored senseless. Spock had been by many, many times, to play chess with him. Sulu and Chekov came by to play cards. Uhura came by to pass him music files with a small smile that told him she didn't hate him anymore, but Jim was too sick to get excited by that.

Spock walked in, and looked vaguely pitying. He knew Vulcans (or half-Vulcans) didn't get colds, lucky bastards. His head started throbbing and he couldn't breathe and he just wanted to give up and _die_. Damnit. Bones was infecting him with his penchant for melodrama.

And he had never been a good patient. It was known in medical circles as the itchy-pants syndrome. Jim Kirk had the itchy-pants syndrome. In fact, he was reasonably sure he'd _invented_ the itchy-pants syndrome. He was just waiting for someone to come in so he could complain because now he needed to pee and his legs were aching and he was spotty on his arms, which was normal because he was James. T. Kirk and was allergic to almost everything on the face of the Eart—no, scratch that. He was allergic to everything, everywhere, period.

"Bones," he called through the thin screen that separated him from the rest of the sickbay. "Bones, couldya come here for a sec?"

A flustered looking doctor stomped in and glared, and Jim wondered if he'd interrupted something monumentally important, like a surgery, but then he remembered that there was no one who needed surgery on his ship at the time. Also, the lipstick smudges were a huge giveaway (unless the man was dressing up as a woman in his spare time, but that too explained his irritation). He grinned. "What?" Bones demanded, loudly.

"Nothing. Just give me a KO hypo, and I'll be out of your hair. I feel awful and I'll keep bothering you if I'm awake, and in this condition I can't go to sleep, and won't let you go back to your, uh, prior activities."

Bones blushed (Jim wished he had a camera) and fumbled around for a hypo. Jim grinned. Getting Bones to give in was not something to be sniffed at. He injected Jim with what was essentially a concentrated version of cough syrup, and Jim was out like a light.

Wahahaha! I'm gonna make ya'll wait for the 'plus one'! *insert evil laughter* I hope this was good, despite its length, or-lack-there-of.

Review and let me know what you think about it. Is Jim in character? Do you see these as possible instances when he might beg for a hypo? I know some are lighter than others, but yeah, that's my brain and my muse having a damned affair and OD-ing on KS fluff and pińa-coladas…

Speaking of which I'll be on holiday in Thailand for the next two weeks till the sixteenth of December, so the next part won't be up till then. I'm actually sorry about that, I didn't intend to make ya'll wait _that_ long, but I haven't written it yet, so… Sorry!

Either ways, REVIEW!

Love,

Lady Merlin


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